


We Can Act Like We Come From Out of This World (Leave the Real One Far Behind)

by Tandirra



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandirra/pseuds/Tandirra
Summary: Despite the exhaustive pace of the Grandmaster's parties they do keep a certain dangerous allure.





	We Can Act Like We Come From Out of This World (Leave the Real One Far Behind)

**Author's Note:**

> Did I name this after lyrics from an 80s song? Yeah maybe.

There was no greater high than that of the Grandmaster’s parties. Loki had, rather vainly, believed he had some great experience in these areas. In the eccentricities of the universe. It’d been one of those things to cling to when he’d first decided to entrust his wellbeing to the whirlwind scene of Sakaar’s upper echelon. He’d certainly survived worse with less pleasure but the sheer volume, the relentless pace of the parties that happened every day, that Loki had not anticipated. Though, as the Grandmaster often said, there were ways to fix that fatigue.

Loki had promised himself he wouldn’t lose his sense in the sea of drugs, sex, and alcohol. That he’d remain elusive when possible, apart and away, a catch, reactionary but not overtly pleasure seeking. Sometimes, though, it was just easier to ride the wave and hope he survived until morning to pick up the pieces even if it cost him some dignity.

Whatever was in Loki’s system made him jittery and anxious. He could feel his blood pumping in his ears, his heart thumping a worryingly irregular beat as he danced to painfully loud electronic music that only furthered his disorientation as it was no doubt supposed to. The heat and shift of bouncing bodies all around him was driving him a little crazy. _A little, as if,_ mocked a sane part of him.

He couldn’t focus on one thing in particular for longer than a few seconds; the lights, the pulsing music, the scratch of fabric from the ridiculously thin outfit the Grandmaster had put him in, the drugged laughter of guests around him, the Grandmaster’s hands on his hips; his mind flitted between them all at a manic pace, giving not one any more than a few seconds thought. He couldn’t tell if that made him more anxious or less. Couldn’t spare the time to ruminate on it. He’d have to ask what the Grandmaster had given him at some point, request that he not have it again if he could muster the right argument. Of course, even the best argument could fall to the Grandmaster’s sound reasoning of: _but it was fun, Lo!_ And the night was young, still much could happen that Loki had no way of preparing for. That, unfortunately, left him only more anxious despite how he distracted himself.

The electricity of nails scraping against his hip bones whipped Loki from his head as he focused in on the Grandmaster. An involuntary, vaguely humiliating, gasp slipped from him as the Grandmaster leadingly slid his immaculately painted nails along Loki’s over sensitive skin.

The Grandmaster laughed at the sound, only further humiliating, and laughed more when Loki flushed. “There we go. Lemme guess, you feeling good?”

“I’m feeling something,” Loki replied, tongue clumsier than he would have preferred though still tempered enough to keep him from slipping up. It wasn’t as if he could talk on his anxieties, on the rabbit’s beat of his heart. Those would be dismissed easily. No, instead it was far easier to stick to the things he knew, to the lies and deception that defined him.

Indeed, the Grandmaster didn’t question him any further, instead sinking into him for a long, greedy kiss. The taste of the Grandmaster in his mouth was almost overwhelming, the stimulants in his system doubling every feeling, every sensation, inspiring some animalistic hunger in his gut that he had to feel shame for even as he leaned into the kiss, lending himself to the Grandmaster’s control. He was willing to please, itching to satisfy that loathsome hunger despite knowing it was manufactured. Knowing the Grandmaster’s concoctions there was nothing to do but submit to the stimulants in his system. He could seek that pleasure and deal with the consequences at a much later date, if ever. There was no time for such things now.

It seemed a reasonable deal. Or so the idea convinced him.

When the Grandmaster pulled away he ran his teeth over Loki’s bottom lip, leaving him with a heady rush only magnified by the drugs pumping through his system. “Ooh, eager,” the Grandmaster practically trilled, moving one hand from Loki’s hip to his chin to trace his jaw with deliberate slowness. “I _like_ that.” The praise soaked through Loki’s skin.

“What can I say? I live to please.” He could’ve laughed at himself had his chest not been so tight, he so breathless. What he said was, for some reason, absurdly funny to him in all its truths and untruths. Where he’d been unable to look at any one thing before he now stared, eyes only for the Grandmaster. He feared he’d lose himself in this wave did he not cling to the man in front of him.

In the back of his mind a part of him which hadn’t yet given up his dignities remained. It worried on this want, on the agency of how much of it was truly _his_ want and how much was the stimulants flooding his mind to its breaking point. How this was no doubt exactly what the Grandmaster wanted. That he was exactly how the Grandmaster wanted him, that such a thing only further stripped him of his very self and pulled him down towards the scum of this planet.

Still, the Grandmaster toyed with him so effortlessly and pulled him from that thought, humming with false thoughtfulness. “Oh but, doll, we’re at this _nice_ party with all these _nice_ people. I wouldn’t want to- ah- disappoint them, or anything.” He was lying, of course he was. He’d give in; all he wanted to do was watch Loki squirm, make him do the convincing. That it was working inspired some writhing shame.

Laughing, trying not to sound too impatient, Loki tilted his head away from the Grandmaster’s hand. If they were to play games, he wouldn’t be solely the pawn. He saw recognition of his efforts flicker across the Grandmaster’s face in clear delight. It thrilled through Loki too, relishing in the effect. “I see. And you _are_ quite the host, that cannot be denied.” The Grandmaster’s hand followed his head, catching him in a not so soft grip. The hand on his hip scraped again, as if warning him not to move away again. Loki bit at his own lower lip; the pain did nothing to steady him or knock him from his dangerous high. “And when are you wrong? We should stay; it’s only right since you got me this delightful outfit.” He picked at the almost sheer blue cloth the Grandmaster had given him when this night began. That it was delightful was a blatant lie, it was itchy and almost too revealing and he missed the safety of leather but he was on a roll. Clumsy as his tongue was at the moment, lies always came easy.

At his coy agreement, the Grandmaster’s grip on him tightened and he sucked in a breath, tingling warmth running down his back. “Mhmm-mm,” hummed the Grandmaster in the smallest of irritated noises. Though Loki saw delight in his eyes at their suddenly crafted game. “I do like that outfit on you. It’d be such a _shame_ to see it… go to waste, right?”

Not quite nodding, Loki twisted to the music, feeling the rub of the Grandmaster’s fingers against him. He grinned wide, letting the Grandmaster guess at what it meant. He wasn’t quite sure himself; his brain tripped and stumbled over countless half-formed thoughts. His skin was crawling, his cheeks flushed. The stimulants in his system burned like fire but he couldn’t care to worry on them, not now. He could play to the Grandmaster’s tune just fine. It could even be fun if he put enough effort into it.

It was nice in a way, the game. It could almost let Loki forget of the great imbalance in their relationship. That the man- though the word was deeply inadequate- held Loki's life in his incredibly fickle hands.

Of course it did him no favors to truly forget. Such a reminder kept him alert and therefore alive.

Swaying too, the Grandmaster tugged Loki closer, a greedy gesture. “Right, right, right.” With every word he ground himself into Loki a little more.The friction shot white hot lines across Loki’s vision.

Stuttering a bit, Loki saved face with an airy laugh. He slid his hands to loop around the Grandmaster’s neck, pulling himself just that bit closer. Loki could see the Grandmaster’s lips parted slightly, blue streak an invitation- or perhaps a demand, time would tell. Could smell the overly sweet alcohol on his breath. “Besides, there are only so many days. A little time to appreciate-” The Grandmaster’s thumb pushed his mouth closed on his tongue and Loki had to clear his throat. Low terror throbbed through him.

A moment later as the Grandmaster ducked in for another kiss, this one only hungrier than the last. Loki let him in, felt his probing tongue and complied. The hand that was on Loki’s jaw dropped to press at his trousers, a pressure that made Loki jerk forwards, heat gathering low in his guts, echoing every pounding heartbeat. The Grandmaster pulled from him wetly, immediately latching onto his neck and beginning to work at his skin.

Loki groaned aloud, a noise that shot shame through his comfortable drugged haze. His chest was going to burst, he couldn’t quite breathe. And, as he tried, the Grandmaster scraped teeth across his skin, forcing from him a mortifying shudder as his hands scrambled against the Grandmaster’s back.

That he could lose control so easily worried him for just a moment before the Grandmaster stole his thoughts by running nails along the bottom of his hip bones. The small sane part of him warning him of this mania went quiet, drowned out by a screaming, burning want. And still his heart beat too fast, inflamed by the drugs turning his body against his better self.

When the Grandmaster pulled away Loki could feel the throbbing mark on his neck. It brought heat raging to Loki’s face; here in front of hundreds he was being marked by the Grandmaster. (As if this were the first time.) Smiling like a cat, with some of his makeup smudged and likely on Loki’s skin, the Grandmaster didn’t move his hands from where they rested. “I disagree. There are just as many days as we can make. Which is why I plan to- ah, keep things fun.” His eyes softened moments later. “And you. You’ll help. You and that pretty body of yours. I just… just can’t get enough of you.”

Words rebounding through him, Loki rolled himself against the Grandmaster’s hand, eager to keep his attentions and use it to bury his own misgivings. “I have that effect on people.” He watched the Grandmaster laugh, a giddy sound.

There were people still dancing around them, bodies still moving, though he barely even noticed. His body was tight as a drawn bow, his heartbeat too quick, perhaps dangerously so though he couldn’t bring himself to care. With the Grandmaster’s hand working against the slick golden fabric of his trousers, he could feel himself growing hard. There was a tight, hot knot of anticipation coiling low in his stomach. Still, he had to keep himself together as was their game. It was becoming increasingly difficult.

And he could see the Grandmaster fraying at the edges too. He still had all the confidence Loki had come to respect but there was something else, a dark hunger in his eyes, the slightest twitch to in his lax demeanor. Loki could see him wanting to lay Loki out, bring him low.

The image was vivid as it was acutely humiliating. Loki, he who had a been a king, laid low and begging for this madman. Again, a small voice in the back of Loki’s mind whispered that this was a poor idea. The very same one that rang bells when he was around the Grandmaster, warning him of danger, of imminent harm. It took seconds to smother. Now was no time for cold feet. Any hesitation in his smile he erased, mostly meaning it.

Loki watched the Grandmaster lick his lips. Watched his eyes dart to the people around them and back to him before smiling wide and leaning in. “Say… how about we- we take a little walk.”

Despite the squirming want propelling him forward more worries reared their heads, annoying nuisances at best. Not to be listened to know of all times. _Besides, he knew little of what was good for himself,_ the bitter edge to his thoughts made him smirk. Before he could speak the Grandmaster’s hand was on the small of his back, pushing him impatiently through the crowd of people, barely bothering to attempt with small talk.

As they stepped away from the party the Grandmaster slid one hand up Loki’s ass and sent shivers running up his spine. Loki heard him humming a low, pleased note. The sound wavered strangely in the air, twisting low to something almost unsettling. The pattern that the Grandmaster tapped against the small of Loki’s back seemed to fall in line with the tune, winding Loki tighter with each note. By the time they reached a room it hurt to breathe, Loki’s body wound so tight every step strained him to breaking.

When they did, the Grandmaster pushed him against a wall, hands sliding up under Loki’s near sheer shirt, warm skin against cold so intoxicating Loki felt the blood rush to his face and his cock throb.

Laughing in his ear, the Grandmaster slid one hand under Loki’s left leg and hitched it up against him, pressing Loki further into the wall. “Mmh, good, good,” he hummed before pressing his lips against Loki’s own again. The kiss was greedy, invasive, as if he sought to steal the breath from Loki’s lungs. And when he pulled away he dropped Loki’s leg, leaving him in a thoroughly undignified position slumped against the wall. Angling his head towards the bed behind them, the Grandmaster winked. “How about- you wait over there.” It was an order.

One Loki felt his body follow without thought before he reigned himself in; whether the drugs in his system were the culprit for such obedience or the arousal, he didn’t know. But by the time he returned to his right mind there was nothing else to do except continue through the movement, settling delicately on the edge of the wide bed. The half sane part left of him noted the lack of bedposts, simply an expanse of bright green sheets. No ropes then and he was all the more thankful for it. That trapped kind of tension left him only too open, too vulnerable.

“Clothes. Clothes, Lo.” Another order as the Grandmaster walked across the room to an inconspicuously small dresser.

With a wave and a shimmer Loki vanished his clothes back to his own quarters, extraordinarily aware of his bare skin and the cool air tingling against him. Here he was, laid bare just as he’d expected. That prior knowledge made it no more comfortable, nor did the tugging want in his stomach which was only growing more insistent. He resisted the urge to pull his legs tight to his chest.

At the least, whatever was coursing through his system Loki had begun to grasp at. This wave he rode did not seem so momentous after all. This he could do and had done so before.

The Grandmaster turned back to him holding a small bottle of what Loki had to assume was lube and another container which Loki couldn’t identify. His eyes practically devoured Loki. “Beautiful! There’s a view I like.”

“Truly? I never realized.” Loki delivered the line with what he hoped was a winning smile. It was a proper amount of teasing, not straying too far into disobedience. It was easy, made easier by the unfortunately real pleasure he gleaned from the compliment.

Indeed, he saw amusement glimmer in the Grandmaster’s eyes. “Ooh. Then maybe I should- uh, _show_ you.” Standing in front of Loki now, he leaned down, planting one hand on Loki’s thigh, and brushed a kiss that was surprisingly tender against Loki’s lips. “How about that?”

Off balanced by the display of tenderness, Loki didn’t manage a reply before the hand that had been tracing terribly distracting circles on his thigh was gone, leaving a ghost of the sensation in its wake. The Grandmaster straightened, grabbing Loki’s face with closer to the intent Loki had come to expect. “Right. Yes. How are you feeling? I just have to know how far along you are. It’s- important.” He peered into Loki’s eyes as he spoke.

It was an uncomfortable intimacy, though Loki knew it was nothing compared to what was to come. He stopped himself from trying to turn away and simply took the inspection. “Fine. A tad… impatient if I may say so.” Nervous too, though he dared not voice that.

The Grandmaster just laughed, freeing Loki of his vice grip and patting him on the head in a way that was hotly embarrassing. Like a pet that need be calmed.

Which was, of course, not unlike what he was. A pet. At best.

“Great! I think you’re _just_ where I want you, Lo.” Dropping casually beside Loki, the Grandmaster carefully unscrewed the cap to the mystery container. The smell of artificial flowers hit Loki immediately, forcing him to recoil or risk gagging. It was entirely overwhelming, Loki could practically taste the pungent, fake flowers.

“Re- _lax.”_ The Grandmaster patted Loki’s thigh, tone almost chastising. “It’s just oil, babe. Just something loosen those muscles. You always get so… strung up in that pretty head of yours, you know.” He sighed, almost sounding genuinely sympathetic. Though Loki knew better. “I always feel like I’m trying to unwind you.” Even as he spoke he dipped one hand into the fragrant lotion.

Loki eyed the stuff with apprehension, mind scrambling for some idea of what it could be used for. Before he could concoct one that seemed plausible, the Grandmaster threw an arm around his bare shoulders. “I _said_ it's just oil, doll. Just something to get you feeling nice and loose.” As if to emphasize, he trailed his hand down Loki's spine leaving a pleasantly cool path in his wake that Loki arched into. “There you go,” he murmured the praise that only encouraged further relaxation and that burning pit in Loki’s stomach.

Still, Loki hesitated to follow through with that thread. Relaxing meant letting go, relinquishing what little control he had left. Even as the Grandmaster massaged the flowery oils into his skin, cutting into knots of tension that left Loki feeling boneless, he scrambled for something to keep his control. Though with every passing moment that search became harder as the Grandmaster worked. It was almost overwhelming, the smell, the feeling of muscles let loose for the first time in far too long, the buzz behind Loki's eyes of whatever was still pumping in his system.

Late into this endeavor, he realized the latter seemed to be increasing. A fog was rising in his vision, hazy and pleasant in equal measures. It slowed his thoughts- a dangerous thing- but he couldn't even properly grapple the alarm to deal with that.

His control faded, sputtering into total nonexistence.

And in the middle of his futile attempt, the Grandmaster pressed a wet kiss to the back of his slick neck. Loki felt himself go limp, burning inside for that newly doubled want.

The Grandmaster’s hand found its way to his cheek, tapping incessantly until Loki turned towards him. And when Loki complied he sunk his kiss deep past Loki's lips, probing, claiming. It inspired a heady rush.

Colors began to fray in the corners of Loki's vision. The world dissolving beneath the Grandmaster’s mouth. When Loki felt teeth drag along his bottom lip he gasped, body jerking forward. All of the tension that had been freed from him seemed held back by a dam, still there- only in waiting.

“Feeling good?” Loki heard the Grandmaster say, as if from a league away.

“I- ah…” He replied dumbly, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. He couldn't focus on any one feeling, they all grappled for control. The taste of the Grandmaster on his tongue as he sank for another prolonged kiss. A hand tracing circles on his hip, scratching at his skin. The bursting, overwhelming smell of flowers. The way the blue on the Grandmaster’s lips warped as his vision fogged. The fear of something looming beyond his control. The control he’d lost.

Then the Grandmaster scratched one nail down Loki's length and the world exploded into a rainbow of colors. The tension that had been at bay returned in a blinding flood and Loki knew no more.

The world, his body, returned to him in brief flashes pulled from the haze of lust and obscurity:

He hollowed his cheeks around the Grandmaster’s cock. Felt the man thrust deep into his throat. All he could do was take it, eyes watering, burning. Every fiber of his being buzzed a fever pitch. There was a hand tugging at his hair and a steady babble of words but Loki understood none of them as they became nothing but part of his haze. The world was a liquid being shaped by the heavy weight in his mouth. He along with it was nothing but a mold to be filled. The abandoned, hollow casting of a person.

The Grandmaster railed into him and he burned. His hands scrambled at the sheets beneath him, searching for any steady surface. But he was alone in an inferno, cut off from his own thoughts, his body. He was nothing but that screaming want. He could hear himself begging. _Please. Please._ It was too much and not enough. And he was burning. Whatever was in his veins would burn him alive before this was said and done. He welcomed that, pleading for it. _Please._

There was a hand petting his head. It was nice. Still, he felt detached, the stimulants ruling him keeping his body from any chance at peace.

His body jerked and stuttered as he came, crying out a broken sound. He couldn't identify where the Grandmaster was, only that his skin crawled and burned. He could see nothing but a blur of colors, blending and morphing. Bursting with ecstasy. The Grandmaster pressed a firm kiss into him; a single steady thing in this world and Loki clung to it, desperate. He collapsed in on himself, a star burned to dark nothingness.

When Loki awoke the next morning- or afternoon as it was- he did so with a raging headache and a sore ass. He felt filthy and used up. Memories of the night before were spotted and patchy, saturated with the neons of a hungry high. The smell of flowers lingered with the bitter taste of salt on his tongue, intimately familiar. In attempting to pick at the pieces of his shattered self he tried not to linger on his broken vow, that he'd lost himself again.

He was unsure how many more times he could before there was nothing to return to.


End file.
